


A Warrior Across a Golden Path

by idiom



Series: Through the Dunes into Sparta [1]
Category: 300 (2006), Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003)
Genre: Community: mcfassy, Crossover, M/M, McFassy, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/pseuds/idiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Leto's capture at Sietch Jacurutu, he was at the mercy of Gurney Halleck and his Fremen acolytes. For a moment it seemed his journey into the desert had come to an early end, until an unlikely saviour emerged from the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Warrior Across a Golden Path

**Author's Note:**

> This is very AU (obviously) but I try to flow with the plot of Dune apart from a few things that just don't work with the pace of this fic. Inspired originally by [this ](http://itsanidiom.tumblr.com/post/17461032127/starrose17-fear-is-the-mind-killer-i-will-not) gifset by the awesome StarRose (who wrote one of my favorite Cherik fics "We Met at the Park". Go read it... not now... later... go read it later... XD )
> 
>  
> 
> I also want to let anyone reading know that this is the first thing I've posted online in a very long time, I hope you like it and enjoy my (usually reserved for my reading) smut.

Lies. Gurney Halleck spoke lies. The Lady Jessica... what reason would she have to believe that he was diseased... an abomination. She most certainly wouldn't send a faction of outlaws to bind and torture him. Not Jessica... but her daughter...

Leto felt a surge of what were not quite memories as the affects of the spice flowed though him. There was a hand pressed to his face, forcing him to consume the melange.

Gurney Halleck had found him in the deep desert at Sietch Jacurutu. Halleck along with his hoard had captured Leto. They began forcing spice into him, intoxicating the young prince. Leto's journey had hardly begun and already they'd come after him.

Leto feel to his knees in the hot desert sands, unable to keep his balance without Halleck's men holding him up. He'd been given an an uncertain amount of spice, but because of it he now trembled. His hands would not comply as he tried to slip the bonds from his own wrists. He was trapped.

“I only follow the Lady Jessica's orders.” Halleck spoke with a strong but faintly unsure voice. “Tell me which of your ancestors possesses you and perhaps we will allow you the noble option of suicide rather than execution.”

“I am not being possessed. My mind is my own!” Leto shouted.

Halleck shook his head. With a wave of his hand he ordered the Fremen outlaws in his command to dose Leto again.

_No more, please._

Leto's vision wavered. He shook his head in attempt to relieve the dizziness and willed his mind to remain strong. Halleck was trying to send in him into a trance, but why? He was not possessed! Halleck would gain nothing... but his aunt... Alia; she had all the motivation in the world.

“Why would you fake your death unless your mind had twisted and you'd become an abomination,” Halleck demanded.

Leto snapped out of his revelation and practically snarled at the man. “I am not, can you not see!” he cried out. “This is all Alia's will! She wants you to take me back to her so she can have me killed! If anyone has been possessed it is her.” Surely it was the only explanation!

“I...” Halleck was unsure of how to digest the information. Possession of abomination would easily explain Alia's strange behaviour in the past years, but if Jessica's suspicions proved true Halleck couldn't believe the boy. “No...” The old general murmured, “No, the order was from the Lady Jessica. No one would fake orders from such a high party.”

Leto growled and continued to struggle, realizing that he probably wasn't helping to prove that he hadn't lost his mind. “You know me!” he pants. “Gurney, please!”

The man frowned. He was hesitant to continue his interrogation but the Fremen who followed him were growing restless.

“Master Halleck, we must leave. This place is forbidden to us.” The Fremen leader pleaded in a hushed tone.

“A moment please, I must think,” Halleck murmured harshly.

“Master Halleck, the men grow restless. Sietch Jacurutu is a place of legend; no Fremen is safe here.”

“Please, I must-” Halleck was cut off by a loud cry from behind them.

In a shadowed crook of the cave, two Fremen lay dead. Their blood soaked into the desert sands and a dark figure stood above them. His eyes were blackened by the shadows of his brow and a crazed smile stretched across his face. There was a dark-crimson splattering of blood across his naked chest.

He approached.

The Fremen tried to fight back, but they shook with fear as if they were seeing an ghost. There was no hope for the normally intrepid warriors. There could be no triumph standing against this phantom. The dark stranger attacked them with the skill of the ancient warriors of the Fremen.

It was chaos. Carnage. A massacre.

Halleck watched as this single figure cut though his men as if they were already corpses. There was nothing he could do to stop it and so he ran from the sight of his slain underlings, cursing his own cowardice the entire way. Escaping out of the Sietch and into the deep desert sand storm. For a moment he looked back and thought of Leto, wondering if he should have taken the youth with him, but perhaps it was for the best. The prince was dead in any event.

Back in the Sietch, Leto crawled back across the sand, his hands still bound. He hid in a small alcove in the rocks as the last Fremen fell into a pool of his kinsmen's blood. The youth breathed shallow panting breaths.  _No fear. I have no fear._ He thought, trying to calm his mind. Leaning back against the rocks, he tried to sit as still as possible. There was silence though the gorge, then the quiet wet sound of footsteps moved towards him. 

Panicking, Leto turned and scraped his bindings against the jagged edge of the rocks. The coarse rope began to fray, but it didn't come apart. “Break, damn you! I refuse to die so helpless,” he hissed.

He could see the man now, his waist anyway. His thick muscled legs were bare; his nakedness covered only by the tanned leather of his loincloth. The man halted in his approach and his sword tapped at the rock above Leto with a metal clang.

“Come out from there, little thief,” a rough voice ordered.

Leto stopped trying to break the thick rope of his bonds and leaned his head back against the rock with a soft thud. With a sigh he crawled out from his little shelter to kneel before this man.

There was a deep chuckle from above him.

Leto looked up. He could see the Fremen killer now, grinning maliciously down at him his narrow eyes no longer obscured in shadow. He had a rough face matted with blood and a twisting blond mane. With a deft hand, he brought sword to Leto's throat, resting against the delicate skin without piercing flesh. “You are small... and pale for a Fremen. Who are you?”

Leto let out a shaky breath that he hadn't realize he'd been holding and answered the warrior. “I am Leto of the house Atreides.”

“Mm...” The man tapped his sword against Leto's cheek, first one than the other, forcing the young man to tilt his head. He took in the youth's soft features – short dark hair contrasting the pale skin of a city dweller and the starling blue-in-blue eyes of a spice user.

Leto let his eyes drop, embarrassed by the man's strangely appraising gaze. “Will you kill me like you did the others,” he asked calmly, his gaze shifting to the broken bodies scattered around them.

The sharp tip of the man's sword pressed at the soft skin just under Leto's chin, forcing his head up once more.

The warrior was grinning again, a manic expression only enhanced by his blood soaked body. “You are fair, with red lips like a young maiden,” he quipped, “it would be uncalled for.”

Leto glared narrowly up at him them, his blue eyes glowing in the dim light as the whirling sands from the storm grew thick and blotted out the sun. “Then you will let me go,” he deduced.

“I have not decided if I trust you yet,” the warrior murmured. “Your eyes are blue from spice like a Fremen, but you were bound by the Fremen and you came here before them, so I know you are not one of them.”

“I was at their mercy as I am now at yours.” Leto murmured in an irate tone.

“And you seem to have a sharp tongue,” the stranger added with a deep chuckle.

Leto felt the the sword leave his throat, only to see it thrust forward towards him soon after. He closed his eyes, calm in his final moments.

Then sword was gone, sheathed in a leather scabbard.

Leto's bonds fell away, coiling down onto the sand like a desiccated sandtrout.

“Your hand.”

Opening his eyes, Leto looked up to see the warrior had a hand extended towards him. He reached up to grip the man's outstretched arm and stood on shaky legs. “I thank you.” He bowed his head to the man, a humble gesture especially for one of his standing.

The man ignored it, walking around Leto who was rubbing the circulation back into his wrists. The warrior started moving the bodies of the Fremen together and kicking the sand soaked with their blood into a pile around them. “I must return to the Sietch, where do you go, young Leto of Atreides.”

Leto cast the warrior a sidelong glance at his mocking tone. It was obvious he was unaware of Leto's house, or at least did not recognize it. “I must continue my search for a man called the Preacher.”

The man back at him then. For a moment he seemed to be waiting for further explanation, but when none came he simply nodded. “Well, you cannot travel in this storm and-” he paused, his brow creased in a frown, “your eyes glow too bright even for one who consumes the spice, I think you are unwell.”

Leto did feel a bit dizzy from the excitement of the days events, but not unwell. He looked out towards the mouth of the cave where Halleck had escaped. The sands were beating against the rock, practically smoothing it in the force of the wind. Halleck had been wearing a stillsuit, Leto, however, wore only thin fabric clothes. He didn't fathom what the harsh sands would do to his under-protected skin.

The man could see his acceptance of the situation in his stance. “You will stay with my people until you are well,” he proclaimed.

Leto turned to him then, taken aback by the unknown man's hospitality. They were in the deep desert after all, resources were scarce. One did not simply offer to house outsiders.

“Your generosity will not go unappreciated, ah...”

“Stelios Dienekes. Stelios.” The warrior introduced himself finally with a friendly nod. “I welcome you, Leto of the house Atreides. If you do not need help walking, please follow me back to Sietch Jacurutu.”

Stelios led Leto further into the cave, leaving the remains of his Fremen kidnappers behind them. It was dark in the tunnels, but Stelios made no move to light a torch. Leto was wary of the man, leading him though the darkness, but then a strong hand came and pressed lightly to his lower back. When Leto looked over he could see a slight gleam from what he knew was Stelios's toothy smile. Somehow, it calmed him.

After a while, there was light again. Torches lined the walls and skylights cut into roof of the cave lit their path. Stelios's hand dropped from Leto's back and for the briefest second Leto missed it's warmth.

“Welcome to Sietch Jacurutu, Leto of Atreides.” Stelios murmured just as the city came into view.

Leto's eyes widened in awe. He'd seen a Fremen Sietch before, but this settlement was by far the most impressive. Levels of living spaces were built into the sides of the colossal pillars of rock. The skylights above them lit the high changeling halls of the cave village. Even with the sandstorm raging outside, it was so bright one could almost even forget they were underground.

The people of the community itself seemed to thrive as well. Like in his city, there was a great market happening in the centre of the Sietch. Stelios guided Leto though it, grinning and laughing while he explained the wares their people sold and the foodstuff they were able to produce.

“We are able to draw some water from the ground, it is reserved mostly for agriculture on the higher levels. I think our way of life is not very different from in your cities, just subsurface, young Leto of the Atreides.”

Leto nodded in agreement.  “You could say that... and I would like it if you would just call me Leto.” 

Stelios smirked. “But you introduced yourself with such grandiosity, I assumed you'd enjoy the it.”

Leto didn't know how to respond to that. He just stared at the man out of the corner of his eye, wondering. “Are you teasing me, Stelios?” The warrior's widening grin answered that question for him.

The passed though a large share of the remarkable cavern city. Soon, Stelios was leading Leto off of what seemed to be the main paths, and up a set of stairs to a more local passage. The warrior placed his hand on Leto's lower back, keeping him close through the narrow hall like path.

“You seem live like Fremen, but you are separate.” Leto commented as he was forced to press up close to Stelios while passing a small group of women. They seemed to eye Stelios wearily, but when they saw Leto their brows raised with curiosity.

Leto had noticed a few things that set this particular collective apart from Fremen he'd witnessed in the past; for starters, non of them wore the stillsuits he was used to seeing on Fremen. Perhaps they did not go into the desert often.

“We went our separate ways long ago,” Stelios explained. “The Fremen say our people stole water, that is why we were exiled here. We found this haven in the deep desert, and now live truly free and only remembered in their oldest myths. We are Spartans now, the Fremen our enemy. If they come we kill them and remain a myth.” Stelios whispered the tale in a manner that told Leto he'd heard it repeated over a hundred times.

“How many live here?” Leto asked as they approached their destination. “It seems populous.”

“There are around three hundred men and their families.” Stelios responded. The number was much smaller than the average Fremen tribe. “We thrive because are numbers are few and our people strong.”

Leto nodded. He tore his gaze from the walls of the underground city and over to his host, really looking at Stelios for the first time. The warrior was a handsome man, a fact which Leto felt more inclined to observe now that Stelios wasn't holding a knife to his throat. Visible now that he'd used sand to scrub the blood from it, his skin was tanned from the sun and rough from labour, training and battle. He was quite tall and muscled, as a warrior should be. He reminded Leto of Alia's Duncan Idaho, back home.

Stelios seemed to have a relaxed and forthcoming personality, not unlike Duncan. Leto wondered if they shared the same pleasure-seeking nature. Duncan, he'd often been told, was quite the ladies' man before he and Alia were wed. Judging by the narrow wary looks Stelios drew from some of the Spartan women, perhaps it could be said that the warrior was a known philanderer about the Sietch. Maybe Stelios just needed to find the right person... as Duncan thought he had.

That thought reminded Leto of the night he'd spent comforting the man when he discovered his wife had another lover. Of course, nothing had happened during that time they spent together; Alia may have been unfaithful but she was still Leto's aunt. The trust bond of family would remain untouched, no matter how much of a temptation Duncan was. Stelios on the other hand, who more and more reminded Leto of of his Duncan back home... was he so forbidden?

Stelios must have noticed Leto was growing a bit flushed, because he asked the boy if he was feeling ill.

“Just a bit lightheaded still. Ah,” Leto glanced over at his companion, “Do you have a family, Stelios? Because I would hate to impose,” he added quickly, hoping to hide the real reason for his fascination.

Stelios chuckled good-humoredly. “No, I am not one for such responsibilities, and I'm young as of yet.” He too glanced over at Leto. “Not as young as some, but young still.” He grinned a toothy smile that seemed to be extremely infectious because Leto caught himself smiling as well.

“Do you have a family, back in your city?” Stelios asked in return.

“Yes.”

Stelios's brows shot up at that, surprised. “Do you?”

“Yes, my twin sister, Ghanima, and my aunt, among others.”

Stelios stared at Leto in silence for a moment before he burst out laughing.

Leto smiled a knowing smile, but feigned innocence. “I don't know what you find so funny.”

Stelios didn't respond and just continued to shake his head at the youth's misleading trickery. They walked another few paces in a pleasant and companionable silence. “Ah.” Stelios expelled, a fond sound. “Here, this is my yali.”

“Your quarters?” Leto asked, not entering quite yet.

Stelios smiled enthusiastically and drew back the drapery that acted as a door to his rooms. Once inside, he ushered Leto to sit on his bed while he moved around his bare chambers to collect a few things; what looked like rope and tubing. “I must tell my people of the water supply.” He caught Leto's gaze, as if to see if he understood. “Will you be alright to stay here until I return?”

Leto nodded, but the thought of this new supply caused him to shiver. He knew exactly what water Stelios spoke of, just lying at the mouth of the cave. If the filtering worked well enough they could process up to forty litres per man.

Leto felt as though he'd be sick.

He wasn't, but then without warning that feeling was replaced by a sudden jolt of pain. It pulsed though Leto like an electric shock. The young man slammed his head back against the bed, his back arching as he clutched his abdomen. For the briefest of moments as the pain subsided and Leto was able to relaxed back onto the bed. However, his relief was short-lived as the burning feeling in his gut return tenfold.

Leto cried out as the pain licked though him to his very core. Nothing could hurt like this, nothing except...

T _he spice!_ Leto's brow knit and he cursed Halleck for his foolishness as the the pain of his withdrawal from the spice shot though him again. He cried out until his throat hurt and all he could do was keen while he gasped for breath. He tried to call for help, but no one responded. 

He would die. Surely he would die form this! This pain was too great for anyone to survive.

Thankfully, a young boy came then. He pushed aside the fabric covering the door of Stelios's rooms and entered purposefully. “Leto? Stelios asked me to-” He stopped, eyes widening at the state of the man before him. “Are you alright?”

Leto rolled onto his side, wincing. “Please, help...” he gasped.

“I, I'll find someone! You'll be alright!” The boy scampered from the room, leaving Leto alone and in pain once more.

 

“Astinos! Astinos!”

“Pleistarchus? What has happened child? You look shaken.” The young warrior rose from his bench as the boy burst into his chambers. Observing the child's stressed expression, Astinos crouched down onto one knee and touched the boy's shoulders to calm him.

“Stelios's new guest, he is sick! I don't know what to do, you must help him!” The boy cried.

Astinos nodded, his face taking on a grave expression. “Be strong, young one. I will go to Stelios's rooms and see to his guest. You will run and find Stelios at the gate, he is with my father and Dilios, now go.” He hurriedly sent the boy on his way before picking up some supplies and rushing out after him, heading for Stelios's rooms.

Running in the opposite direction, Pleistarchus reached the village's front gate as quickly as his small legs could carry him. “Captain Artemis!”

Artemis frowned at the young one running towards them. The old captain of the Spartan warriors crossed his arms of his chest and surveyed the boy. “Pleistarchus? What are you doing so far out of the Sietch? Does your father know you're out here?”

“No, Captain Artemis, but Astinos sent me to find Stelios! It's urgent!”

“What's happened?” Stelios demanded, confused and wary as to what would cause the King's young son come this far out of the safe haven of the city. What could possibly be requiring his so immediate attention?

“It's your guest! Leto! He's gravely ill!”

Stelios's grey-green eyes widened and he took a knee before the boy. “I knew he was somewhat ill. But why is this so urgent?”

“I don't know, but he was in pain when I left and-” Pleistarchus's expression downturned as he was unable to describe it. “Astinos is seeing to him. Still you should come right away!”

“Captain?” Stelios spoke quickly, requesting to take his leave without words.

Artemis waved him off. “Go! We can take care of this. Your guest needs you.”

Stelios nodded his thanks and excused himself. He jogged after Pleistarchus back to his rooms.

 

Stelios entered, drawing back the thick curtain that covered the portal into his room and nearly ripping it from it's post. “Astinos, is he alright?”

The dark haired warrior at the bedside turned from his patient towards his anxious friend. “Leto seems to be suffering from a sudden withdrawal from spice,” he murmured. His demeanour spoke of his hesitancy to treat the unfamiliar condition.

Stelios came to sit on the edge of the bed. He surveyed Leto's form. The youth's shirt had been removed, but he was still writing against the thin sheets in the heat of his fever. Stelios looked from Leto's stricken form to Astinos, searching the other man's expression again for any sign of hope.

In that moment, Leto's body bridged with another harsh groan of pain. Stelios placed a hand flat on his chest to force him back down. Leto hit the bed again with a soft whimper, but he could thankfully no long jar himself. The warrior held him there until the last jolt seemed to subside, hand sliding in the pool of sweat on the youth's abdomen.

“Surely he can't have been that long without.” Stelios murmured, enquiring after an alternate cause of this sudden ailment. “If he has this will-” _kill him._ Stelios shook his head, not wanting to say the words out loud.

Astinos shook his head. “He hasn't. Judging by the empty vials we found with the bodies, those Fremen you killed dosed him with spice enough to kill him or induce some form of madness.”

Stelios frowned. He wanted to ask why but didn't see any point in it. The only one who could answer that question lay drifting in and our of consciousness before them.

“Is what you say is true, how is he still alive?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Astinos looked down at the young man. “He is strong. You said this his name is Leto. Leto Atreides? Is he not prince or the city Arrakeen, Stelios?”

Green eyes widened with sudden recollection. “Atreides, yes. I had forgotten where I knew the name.”

Astinos looked down at the boy, his gaze wary and contemplative. “The business of the city is no business of ours.” he said calmly, but Stelios knew he spoke with an new edge of indecision about helping the boy now. “He will be fine, but I think you should stay with him. I will inform King Leonidas that we are... entertaining royalty, I suppose.”

Stelios nodded, grateful to his friend even as he left. He turned back to Leto, looking on the boy with new eyes. Leto had stopped trashing, still his body was tense and ever so often he let out a pained gasp.  _Young and soft, just like a city prince,_ Stelios thought with a chuckle.

 

In Stelio's patient care and company, It wasn't long before Leto was in recovery. Awake now, though a bit drowsy, he looked up at Stelios with big grateful blue eyes. His breathing was still a little uneven and his body was sticky from sweat, but his fever had gone down and he was no longer in any pain.

“Mm... where am I,” he asked breathily.

“In my bed, where I left you.” Stelios replied with a playful smirk. Leto either didn't catch his wording or ignored it in favour of scoping out the room to see that it was indeed true. His ailment made him feel as though weeks had passed rather than the better part of two days.

“I am indebted to you, master warrior,” Leto whispered with a soft voice, finally devoid of the rasping from his pain.

“Please, just Stelios is fine,” He responded, echoing Leto's earlier words with a smile.

“Stelios. I thank you, again.” Leto tried to sit up but the warrior stopped him immediately.

“You are still unwell.”

“But-”

“My King told me to do everything within my power to revive you and you leaving this bed will be counterproductive.” As before, Stelios pressed the youth back down onto the soft bedding.

Annoyed, Leto stared narrowly up at the man, but quickly realized Stelios was going to stay rigidly firm on the subject of his successful recovery. He relented, and with a sigh collapsed back onto the soft bedding. “I suppose I will stay here then... in your bed, as it were.”

Stelios tilted his head down to hide the grin spreading across his face, but Leto knew that his words pleased him. The warrior helped him to sit up then push a small bowl of water to his lips for him to drink.

Leto did so nearly choking in his hast. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. Clearing his throat with a cough, Leto thanked Stelios once more as the man put the bowl away and returned to his seat by the best.

“Who is Duncan?”

The question knocked Leto off kilter. Taken aback, he glanced warily towards the man who'd saved his life now twice. Where had Stelios learned that name?

“I, I... he's my uncle,” Leto answered. With a frown he wondered why those simple words, such an easy response, had faltered so.

“Ah.”

Leto frowned at the tone of the man's sigh.

Stelios mimicked the expression. “Why do you glare?”

Leto was slightly taken aback, but countered easily. “Why do you sound so relieved?”

Stelios shrugged and spoke bluntly. “Perhaps I did not enjoy the credit for all the work I did to nurse you back to health being given to some other man.”

“I, I-” Leto felt himself flush, and not in the aftermath of his fever. He continued to frown at Stelios, still unsure as to where in their few past conversations Duncan's name had risen.

“You asked for him in your sleep, your sister as well... but that didn't make me- ah.” Stelios stopped talking. Scratching at the stubble on his jaw, he changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”

Leto smiled gently, allowing Stelios's evasion of his own unspoken words. “I am well, much better. How are you? Have you slept?”

“Not well, you are in my bed after all,” he half-joked rubbing the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“I could tell from,” Leto paused for a moment, his attention shifting,  “your eyes... they're so very green like his.”

Stelios bristled at Leto's words. “Your Duncan.” He filled that in for himself, unable to keep a pinch of venom from his voice.

“My Duncan, yes.” Leto chuckled. “He does not consume the spice. So he does not have the eyes of Ibad like most.”

“We don't use spice here.” Stelios responded automatically. “It is one Fremen tradition we did not suffer. Now that I have seen what it did to you I am glad for it.”

“Yes I will have to remind myself to put some sort of restriction on it in future.” Leto huffed. “I had assumed you don't partake,” he continued, in a more pleasant mood, “you have the Water of Life, unless you don't carry that Fremen tradition either.”

“Don't mistake my words, we do carry some, and yes that is one of them.” Stelios said with his usual grin returning. The atmosphere always lost it's tense edge in the presence his smile.

“I am interested in this tradition. Is it true what they say?”

Stelios chuckled. “That depends, what do they say?”

“The spice orgies.” Leto spoke hesitantly but with genuine curiosity. “I've heard them called. The release of inhibitions that comes during the ceremony leads to...” He bit his lip gently knowing he had no need to finish that phrase when Stelios's smile turned smug. The though was in the name really. “I've never witnessed it, but I've always been... intrigued by the prospect,” he admitted finally.

Stelios nodded, understanding but not yielding any of the particulars that would pique Leto's interest. “I wouldn't want to harm your purity with the details.”

Leto made a small relenting noise. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, thinking he'd embarrassed himself. By the grave expression Stelios bore it did not seem that he was teasing Leto but was rather purposefully not forthcoming in this instance.

“Tonight during the ceremony perhaps you will see for yourself.”

Leto's brows shot up, once more intrigued. So it was a surprise? His face broke out in a wide grin. “You.” he said simply, shaking his head.

Once again, Stelios just smiled.

 

The ceremony that night was sensational. In the furthest side of the city the floor was closer to the surface. A larger skylight in the roof allowed for the three colossal bonfires that roared between the throngs of celebrating Spartans. Leto was almost fully recovered from his ailment and Astinos had suggested the celebrations might help raise his spirits.

“Our naib, my King Leonidas, wanted to celebrate your recovery and welcome you as our guest.” Stelios murmured into his ear as they made their way though the throngs of people. They reached the main fire where Stelios was greeted with hearty shouts from his fellow warriors as well as exasperated looks from their spouses.

“Amazing.” Leto said to himself as Stelios ushered him to his side at the fire. It was clear to Leto that being a soldier was a highly regarded calling. As he watched Stelios clasp arms with the decorated Spartan who could only be their king - or naib as the people called him – Leto also realized the company he kept ranked high even among them.

He was introduced to the king and his beautiful wife briefly, because his presence seemed to indicate that the festivities could comment. As the guest of honor, Leto was first to be given a chalace filled with an unknown liquid that glowed blue like his eyes in the low contrasting light of the fire. Stelios made a motion that he was to drink so Leto brought the cup to his lips and took a single big quaff as the people of Sietch Jacurutu cheered around him.

Leto found the effects of this new narcotic, this Water of Life, even more invigorating than the spice. He only just had a final moment of clear headedness to pass the chalice back to the king before a balmy wave hit him. His whole body buzzed with a pleasurable numbness.

The chalice was passed around, refilled every so often as needed. It took a surprisingly small amount of time for all present to be deep under the influence of the ceremonial liquid. In the end the chalice was emptied and the last of the water was taken by king and Leto, again as their guest.

Stelios murmured that it was time now for them to sit and wait for the Water of Life to flow though them. Leto was confused, as he was clearly feeling the effects already, but he did not argue as Stelios pulled him down to sit practically in the warriors lap.

With the applause and cheers of all those around, King Leonidas stood. He marched into the centre of the ring of his people, getting closer to the main fire. In a loud booming voice he began to tell one of the ancient tales of the Spartan people. The tale of the great battle their ancestors had one, securing the Sietch Jacurutu. He spoke of the father and forefathers of the warriors before him that night, those warriors who had been willing to lay down their lives to rid themselves of the Fremen menace.

Leto, though he thought the story intriguing, did not feel any emotional about it. When he looked over at Stelios however, he saw the man's expression was grave in remembrance, as were the faces of all the warriors around the fire that night. It was only when King Leonidas finished his tale that the silent tension broke and the celebratory cheers returned.

The Kind sat back down, next to his proud spouse. She called out a word Leto did not recognize. From somewhere beyond the fires drums began to beat in a cheerful rhythm and a stringed instrument could be heard as well. In a flurry of life, traditional dancers filled the gaps between the people and the fire. The people around began clapping to the beat and Leto could tell the celebration was in full swing.

It wasn't long before Leto felt himself swaying to the music from his place on Stelios's lap. Around them, he saw that people were beginning to join the dancers by the fire. Leto turned from watching the dancing towards Stelios who was laughing uproariously about something with his fellow.

“Stelios. Stelios, come dance with me,” Leto said, his lips brushing against the outer shell of the warriors ear as he tried to be heard over the festivities.

Stelios pulled his head back to eye the boy curiously. He placed his own lips to Leto's ear in turn. “You go dance; I have never been skilled.”

In his intoxicated state, Leto practically pouted. He knew Stelios was not one to be easily swayed so Leto stood from his position in the man's lap and did as he'd suggested. He danced.

Inhibitions gone and with none of his guardians here to warn him of what was proper, he just let the must and the feelings from the narcotic flow over him. His hips swayed with the beat of the drums. Judging by Stelios's passionate gaze, he didn't look as silly as he knew he should have felt.

There were many moving around him now. Leto chose to remain within Stelios's line of sight, rolling his body in a manner he had never known could be seductive. It wasn't long before another approached him.

The man stood before Leto, tall with sun-kissed skin from desert living and handsome with dark hair that fell in soft curls over his light eyes. They danced together. Eventually the stranger pulled Leto in close, letting his large hands slide up and down the prince's sides, causing him to shiver. The heat of the fire and the aphrodisiac quality of the drug was turning out to be a dangerous combination.

The warrior he pulled Leto closer and moving one of his thick muscled thighs between the prince's legs. Leto moaned softly as he carded his fingers though the handsome Spartan's curled black hair. “Duncan,” he whispered. The man either didn't noticed or didn't care. He continued to tug Leto closer until the youth could feel warm breath on his already heated skin.

Leto made a small keening noise as the man's hands moved from his sides slowly downward only for the contact to be ripped away from him moments later. There was a new and yet somehow familiar warmth at his back now. Leto looked over his shoulder and upon recognizing the intruder he relaxed back against Stelios's form. Thoughts of Duncan were washed from Leto's mind as Stelios's strong hands landed on his shapely hips to supported his swaying.

“Are you enjoying your dancing.” Stelios asked in a husky tone. Having Leto pressed back against him from hips to shoulders was making speech harder for his already addled mind.

“I am.” The prince grinned, rocking against him again. His glowing blue eyes scanned the other couples writhing around the fire, their naked forms sliding together in it's heat. Even in his intoxicated state he blushed.

Leto could only remember one time he'd witnessed such acts. One night back in  Arrakeen he'd seen Alia in the arms of her lover, Javid; their hidden alcove in the palace was not as hidden as they'd thought. Their passion that night was soft, gentle as they adored each other's flesh. That passion was nothing compared to what Leto witnessed here.

There was a roughness in the lovemaking between these roguish men. As Leto pressed back firmly into Stelios his eyes drifted to one  couple in particular. Like many present, the two men had stripped off their clothes unashamed of their nakedness. One man pulled the other against him, before pushing him down so that me was laying with his stomach flat to the dirt floor. The man above fell onto of his partner then, caressing the other man's back and shoulders with deft fingers.

Leto watched, wetting his lips at the sight. The naked muscle of the warrior's firm ass flexed. He thrust against the man below him fulfilling his lusts like a rutting animal while the other arched back against him, his jaw hanging open while he gasped out his pleasure.

Leto dropped his head back against Stelios's shoulder with a soft groan. At his sides, Leto's hands found the warrior's wrists and clutched at them tight.  “Stelios, could we continue our dance in private,” he asked. 

In his ear he heard a soft chuckle.

“Back to my yali?” He asked rhetorically, rocking himself closer to Leto. “I would rather stake my claim for all to see, but... I have shared you as much as wish to bear this night.”

Leto sucked in a shallow breath. He didn't need to look back over his shoulder to know that Stelios had dawned his familiar wide grin. Biting his lip to hold back his own smile, Leto led Stelios away from the fire and back towards his room. The darkness mixed with his intoxication disoriented Leto, but the Spartan was quick to come take over. With a hand on Leto's waist, he guided them though the underground.

 

They reached Stelios's chambers and had barely drawn back the curtain before attacking each other's lips.

Only now that he was able to release his passions without reservation did Leto realize how much unrealized desire was built up inside of him. It was as though a dam broke and hot floods were washing over him.

Stelios broke the kiss. He pulled back slightly to touch Leto's face, cupping his pale cheeks with both hands and letting his thumb caress Leto's lips, darkened and shining, wet from their kiss. It was as if he was trying to decide whether Leto was real or a illusion created by his drug addled mind.

“I am here.” Leto said, pulling Stelios back towards him with a hand at the back of his neck. “I am here.”

Stelios's hands left his face, sliding back to fist in Leto hair. He brought their lips back together and they kissed with a bruising passion. Stelios's tongue parted Leto's lips expertly working to dominate the passionate minx.

Leto, though keen, did not allow himself to be taken so easily. He walked backwards without breaking their kiss until he felt his knees hit the edge of Stelios's. He gracefully spun them then and with a calculated shove sent the bigger man down onto the soft bedding.

Stelios's looked up, surprised for a moment before his smile returned. Leto was kneeling above him. His knees were planted on either side of Stelios's hips.

“You seem flushed,” the warrior murmured, running his hands up Leto's hips, causing the boy to shiver. “Why not undress?”

Leto grinned. “You're right, it is terribly warm this night.” He stripped slowly while the warrior watched. He raised his shirt above his head to reveal his slim but toned torso then he dropped his pants before sliding back into bed, sitting his shapely rear on Stelios's upper thighs.

“What of this?” He asked, sliding his finger along the upper edge of Stelios's loincloth.

“Alas I am unable to undress myself, trapped as I am in my current position,” He accentuated his point by thrusting his hips up grinding against Leto.

The price moaned softly at the feeling. He pressed back against the warrior, rocking with him. “I will have to help you than, won't I.”

Stelios chuckled, and was about to continue the banter when he felt a hand run lightly over his clothed cock. He tossed his head back and hissed in pleasure. Leto took that as permission to carry on.

He began to gently stroke Stelios though his loin covering. Only at the point where his erection was painfully filling out his loincloth did Leto stop to release it.

“Gifted in more than just the art of war, I see,” the prince whispered while one hand stroked the length if Stelios's cock.

Stelios grinned a cocky smile, tucking his arms behind his head. “You have to find out for yourself.”

There was no more wordplay then.

Leto serviced Stelios with his lips and tongue, something he'd never imagined himself doing but something he had seen done in books on the art of lovemaking. He took the head of Stelios's cock in between his lips, teasing it with his tongue while he continued to stroke the shaft.

Stelios could take no more teasing. Knowing he wanted to spend himself inside his new lover, he sat up with Leto still in his lap. he ran his hand down the prince's naked spine pressing their chests together. When he reached Leto's lower back, he moved to cup the underside of the youth's thighs and pull him in close.

“H-ha.” Leto breathed, pressing himself firmly against Stelios. The warrior's hands moved lower and Leto could feel deft fingers rubbing over his puckered entrance before pressing slowly in.

“Stelios!” he hissed. The thick stretch of the man's finger was too much without aid.

With a knowing grunt, Stelios leaned across the bed and to uncorked a small bottle of sword oil. He reached around Leto and poured the liquid over his fingers and between the prince's smooth cheeks.

Leto reached between them where his hard cock was stroking against Stelios's length. He took them both in hand and stroked up and down, not to get them off but to ease the ache while Stelios worked first one then two thick digits into Leto's virgin entrance.

Leto was panting. Those fingers were reaching places he'd never known existed; places he'd never known would bring him to the brink of orgasm. When Stelios could fit three fingers into Leto, they knew he was ready.

Leto raised himself up off of Stelios's lap and then lowered himself down. Stelios gripped his cock and aimed it between the prince's glossy cheeks. Slowly Leto lowered himself until he was once more sitting in Stelios's lap.

Stelios moaned a deep guttural sound, nestling his head against Leto's shoulder. His hands caressed up and down Leto's chest, then his thumbs found the youth's nipples and began rolling them gently. He bent further to kiss and nibble the hard points while Leto shivered and tightened around him.

Leto rode Stelios, hands pressed to the warrior's firm chest as his hips rolled. He wilted more and more in his pleasure until he was practically resting on Stelios's chest while his lower body did all the work. The warrior clasped their hands together and helped Leto sit up so that he was on his knees again, bouncing up and down on the warrior's cock using Stelios's support for leverage.

After what felt like hours to the young lovers, Leto's thighs were shivering from exertion. Stelios could tell the youth was growing tired. He flipped them over. Kneeling up, he pulled Leto's legs more firmly around his waist and placed his hands on the bed at either side of the boy's hips. Soon, his impassioned thrusting renewed.

Leto cried out, arching back against Stelios. He clutched at the bedding, knuckles growing white as the man continued to move within him. His hands reached out, and Stelios came to him, kissing his lips, moving down his chin before greedily mouthing at his neck.

Stelios's stayed there with his face pressed to Leto's pale shoulder. Inhaling deep against the crook of Leto's neck, he whispered, “You smell of cinnamon.” His breath was moist against Leto's skin. The pace of his thrusting picked up.

Leto gasped with each thrust of the warrior's hips. His hands moved to grip Stelios's broad shoulders, sliding against his sweat soaked skin in effort to gain purchase. The man's fingers gripped Leto's hips hand enough to bruise but it only increased his pleasure.

Leto panted as one of Stelios's hands moved from his slim hips to start stroking him in time with his thrusts. He cried out, digging his nails into Stelios's back. His feet planted firmly on the bed for better purchase while he arched up against the warrior above him.

Leto came with a short gasp of “Stelios”. His toes curled against the bedding and his back arched up like a drawn bow. His muscled tensed and he clenched around the thickness still pulsing inside of him.

Moments later Stelios's hips stuttered in their movement. His hand returned to Leto's hips and he gave a number of deep, penetrating thrusts before pulling Leto too him, holding the prince as climax surged though him.

Leto pulled Stelios back to him then and they kissed. It only broke off when Leto let out a soft moan as Stelios's now soft cock slid free. He was so wet there now but he liked it, the slick feeling between his thighs.

Stelios looked down at the youth's pleasure flushed face. “Leto, you're per-”

Leto didn't let him finish. He pressed in close to Stelios. Tucking his head under the warriors chin, he whispered, “Sleep.”

 

That morning Leto woke first. A firm muscled arm rested securely over his waist. They had shifted in their sleep. He snuggled back against the warm body now spooned behind him. For a moment he opened his eyes, closing them in decision to sleep a while longer, then they were once again shooting wide open.

“Who are you!?” He demanded.

There was a man sitting in a chair near the bed wearing a tattered cloak. He was ancient, his eyes glazed with a white film. There was a walking stick clutched firmly in his hand. This blind man... could he be...

Stelios woke then. He frowned at the man from his cosy place behind Leto. “Muad'Dib, how did you come to be here?”

Leto gasped at the name. “Muad'Dib? You're... you're the Preacher?”

“And you are Leto of the Atreides... you are meant to be dead,” he spoke plainly.

“I am alive, father.”

Stelios seemed shocked, while Leto just let out a relieved breath as if he'd been waiting for far too long to speak those words.

“This is not a position I was hoping to see any child of mine in. At times like these I am glad to be blind.” The old man murmured, using his walking stick to prod at the arm around Leto's waist with startling accuracy.

Leto felt his face burn with the furious heat of his embarrassment.

Stelios, on the other hand, shrugged. crossing his arms back behind his head, he stretched his muscled torso before getting up from the bed. “You told me you searched for the Preacher. Speak with Muad'Dib, I will find us food.” He said as he clothed himself.

Stelios was about to leave but, with a moment of hesitation, turned and came back to the bed. He took Leto's chin in hand and kissed him firmly before turning to leave again with a big grin. “I'll be back soon, princeling,” he teased.

“The Spartan people are very... courteous.” the Preacher murmured once Stelios was gone.

Leto closed his eyes to block out his embarrassment. “Courteous, yes.”

“You say you are alive. But for how long?” Muad'Dib's grey eyes looked up unfocused. “For how long will you be truly alive, walking the path that you have choosen to take?”

Leto frowned at the Preachers words. “I will fulfil the prophecy and I will save humanity from it's inevitable destruction.”

Muad'Dib sighed. “I don't know if the path you choose is the right one... but I do know it is the path that you will choose, the path that I failed to take.”

Leto let out a frustrated sigh as Muad'Dib continued to speak in riddles. “I only wish to do right by you; I wish to defeat the corruption bought about in your name that had plagued our world in recent years,” his words were filled with longing, longing for this man, his father, to hear him. He wanted him not just to understand, but to support the decision as well.

Muad'Dib nodded solemnly. “I know.”

They continued to speak with hushed ardent words. By the end of their conversation, both realized that they did not know the other as they thought they had. Their expectations were destroyed. Despite this, when Stelios returned they had come to a bitter consensus.

“King Leonidas wishes to see you,” the warrior declared hesitantly.

Leto looked over at the preacher, his father, on last time. He then stood and exited the room without another word to the man. His steps were hasty but he was determined as he stormed by Stelios though the threshold.

Stelios held the curtain aside as the young man walked past him. He looked at the Preacher meditating silently in his room and his face contorted in a confused expression. With a slight frown, he let the thick curtain fall back to its place, moving to follow Leto and leaving the old man behind.

 

King Leonidas stood before them. A deep-red cape making him stand out amongst the rest “Muad'Dib tells me you are ready to continue on your path,” the King started. “I would like for you to take my man Stelios. He will aid you and act as a personal guard once you return to your city. This is a token of good will from the Spartan people,” he proclaimed with a proud smile.

Leto was shocked. The Preacher had known of his decision before he'd informed him? Damn him and his foreknowledge. And what of Stelios? Surely the King wasn't offering up one of his most trusted warrior's as a bondsman.

“I, I don't know what to say. I'm afraid I can't accept your most noble offer,” Leto declined.

King Leonidas laughed as if Leto had just told a hysterically funny joke. “Nonsense, he is one of the most skilled and courageous of my men. Muad'Dib tells me that the path you tread is a dangerous one, so I offer you assistance. Beside, I'm sure it would kill Stelios should he hear that you had come to naught so soon after all the work he did in helping you recover.”

Leto knew better than to refuse the King's offer a second time. With a worried glance over his shoulder, he tried to take on the impossible task of gaging Stelios's reaction to the news. He could read nothing from the warriors neutral and obedient expression so he thanked the King for his gracious gift.

They did not speak. Leto followed Stelios back to his rooms in complete silence. When they reached the room and drew back the curtain, they saw that Muad'Dib had disappeared.

Stelios immediately began packing items he thought were essential. Leto realized that the rest would be left behind for the next owner of the yali. It was strange, the more he watched Stelios collect his belongings the more he realized how little the Spartan actually had. His pack was light like that of a soldier heading to battle.

Leto sat down on the bed. He watched Stelios continue pulling various weapons out of hidden nooks and crannies the largest of which was a spear he'd somehow disguised as a beam in the doorway.

Stelios pounded the base of the spear on the rock floor, smiling as bits of rock and dust came off of it. Grabbing the thing, he tested it's strength. He seemed pleased with his spear, but when he turned back to the bed his expression dropped slightly.

“Have you taken ill again, Leto?” he asked worriedly. “It may be from the ceremony last night.”

Leto shook his head. “Last night was... was it the intoxication?” He asked, his voice taking on a nervous edge.

Stelios frowned. “Was what?”

With huff, Leto rose from the bed and paced the small room. “The sex, the passion,” he clarified quickly. “Was it just the intoxication?”

Stelios smirked causing the youth to wonder if, like his King, he thought Leto was joking. “You underestimate your beauty, Leto Atreides,” came the warriors teasing reply. He realized quickly that his words came off as snide when Leto's brow knit in a sad expression.

“My beauty? Is that all?”

Stelios sighed. He truly wished that Leto knew him to be better than that. With a determined mind, he promised himself he would prove it. “My king told me of your chosen path, the one the Preacher, Muad'Dib, failed to take. Your bravery in this is as great as one of my comrades at arms. It will be an honour to have you at my side and to be at yours if you would have me.” He took the prince in his arms then, to stop his pacing and have Leto really look at him.

Leto let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Stelios, I would not ask you to leave your home to come with me.”

Stelios shook his head as if this was not the issue. “I would not ask you to go alone,” he retorted.

Leto was not entirely convinced that this was Stelios's desire. His brows were still knit up in a pained expression. To the warrior, it seemed as if Leto just could not accept his own desire.

With a sigh, Stelios asked Leto a question that he realized without doubt no one had asked him for a very long time. “What do you want, Leto?”

There was a long silence between them then as Leto absorbed his words. When the prince finally spoke, however, his voice was unwavering and his words concise. “I want you to come home with me. Back to my city. To  Arrakeen.”

“Then my destination is Arrakeen, my prince.”

Leto's sad expression broke out into a full, rich smile. “Just call me Leto.”

“Leto,” Stelios murmured against his lips.

“Yes,” Leto whispered in return. His delicate fingers ran though Stelios's curled blond hair as their lips sealed together in a kiss. Stelios took Leto's thighs in hand and lifted the prince. He carried Leto to the bed where they made love once more before their arduous journey began.

It was so different from the night before. As they embraced, their passion was no longer influenced by narcotics and lust; no longer driven only by want. There was an added bond that dare not speak its name.

Stelios pulled away the thin fabric of Leto's shirt and ran hos hand down the youth's flat belly before divesting them both of the rest of their clothes. They took things slow and gentle this time around, not that the night before have been rough in anyway.

Leto had to break their kiss, panting into Stelios's mouth as the man entered him smoothly. He spread his legs wide, allowing Stelios room to move between them. His hands roamed the warriors muscled form until they again found themselves wrapped tight around his neck.

Stelios moved in him with slow deep thrusts, rolling his hips against Leto's while his hands firmly massaged pliant thighs. He whispered nonsensically into youth's ear causing Leto to smile between his pleasured, gasping breaths. His hands moved from Leto's thighs up his sides stroke his ribs and the slender curve of his waist.

Leto threw his head back and moaned. Stelios's thumbs were circling his nipples now as he continued with his too gentle thrusts. When the tiny nubs had peaked, one of Stelios's large hands drifted south once more. He stroked Leto's cock with a firm tight grip while still fondling his pert nipples. The youth let out a sharp cry, his hands moving to clutch at the sheets under him. The pleasure was already too much and Stelios chose then to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

Leto's legs came up around Stelios's trim waist and tightened around his hips forcing the man inside as he came. The stimulation, in the end had proved impossible to fight. More so, since Leto had already decided to surrender.

In that same moment, Stelios let himself go as well while he caressed Leto's silken skin to draw out his lover's orgasm. The warrior pressed their hips firmly together until they were both spent. Still joined, they embraced in the aftermath or their lovemaking.

“Perfect,” he whispered the same words Leto wouldn't let him get out the night before.

Beneath him, the prince smiled until his warrior's lips claimed his in another all consuming kiss.

 

The very next morning, Stelios said his goodbyes. His fellow warriors clasped his arm and embraced him while their wives stood by trying their hardest to seem regretful at the troublemaker's departure. The community would be slightly less interesting without him and his japes, for better or for worse. When Stelios was finally ready to leave, Leto was waiting for him patiently near the mouth of the cave where they had first met. Stelios approached him, not with the sad expression of one leaving all he knew behind, but with his familiar grin and a spring in his step that said he was excited by the prospect of adventure. Together, they walk out into the deep desert along the path though golden sands.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles donated by my [AWESOME Beta](http://ofthelethani.tumblr.com/) were – Falling into Destiny - Stone Guardian, Desired Prince – Through the dunes, into Sparta (series title :D ) – Unexpected Passion - In Sickness and in Health – Taste of Sparta (the blowjob scene isn't even that long!) – There was something in that water! - From Lies, to Love - these were all, in her words, far too corny... but looking at it mine is no better.
> 
> Already working on a (possibly porny) sequel involving Duncan (not killed/new ghola?) who will be playing the protective want-to-be lover as well as being jealous of Stelios and his new position at Leto's side. I can't decide weather to go with a good old fashioned ménage à trois... or some kinky voyeurism on Duncan's part (anyone care to place a vote one way or another?)


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